Sheridan straightened her shoulders and bit her tongue—again—and this time, she tasted blood. “No, we don’t have help, Aunt Estelle, and it has nothing to do with money or the lack thereof. Wyatt was raised to do for himself, as his mother taught him.” She struggled to keep her temper, which she hadn’t known she had until now, under control. She could have thrown it in their faces that they had disinherited her when she left New Orleans, Estelle’s words ringing in her ears that she would never get another cent from them, though in truth, she hadn’t needed it. “And I enjoy keeping house for him. It makes me happy.”
“That’s not the way you were raised, Sheridan.” Odette stated, quite emphatically, her gaze roaming over her as if she was no longer recognized. “You were raised to be better.”
How would Odette know how she was raised? Neither she nor Estelle had participated in her upbringing, washing their hands of her as soon as she was enrolled in Bouchard’s, only seeing her when school wasn’t in session or on holidays. They seemed to have preferred it that way and so did she.
“Better than who?”
“Everyone. You were born to privilege, to money, despite your shameless mother. You were educated, taught how to dress and act like a proper young woman, to marry into a good family, one that would overlook the unfortunate circumstances of your birth.” Estelle took a sip of her tea, then dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, but her eyes narrowed, as if she knew exactly what she was saying and how to hurt her. “You were not raised to marry some lowly cowboy in the middle of nowhere.”
What an odd thing to say. She hadn’t been raised to marry prominently. Not in the least. She’d been taught to distrust men, not seek them for marriage.
Sheridan stared at her aunt for the longest time, completely at odds with the woman sitting before her. “Money doesn’t make one happy.” She almost added ‘look at the both of you.’ “Neither does prestige. Or power. Love makes you happy, Auntie. Doing good for others makes you happy.”
Aunt Estelle studied her, her mouth pursed in disappointment and disapproval. “You’ve changed, Sheridan.”
“Yes, I have.”
Aunt Estelle shook her head, her lips pressed tighter than before, then took a deep breath. “I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.” Odette added her two cents. Her face, too, showed her displeasure.
Oh, there were so many things she could have said at the moment, but the words were stuck in her throat. Yes, she had changed. She was no longer lonely, no longer afraid of makingfriends, no longer afraid of not being loved or ending up like her mother.
“It doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. I like who I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make the beds.”
She straightened to her full height, gave them each a slight nod, then left the kitchen as quickly as possible. Reaching the back staircase, she stopped. Her heart was pounding too hard. Her palms were damp and her knees felt like butter on a warm day. Indeed, her entire body was shaking. How dare they? Couldn’t they see what a good man Wyatt was?
How long did she have to wait before she could ask them to leave? Was today too soon? Tomorrow?
Wyatt blew out the last lamp in the parlor and started to climb the stairs, his mood just as dark as the nighttime sky outside the windows. After sitting through dinner, then a game of cards with those shrews Sheridan called her family, listening to their snide comments aimed at her, his mother, Royce and even himself, he was ready to strangle both Odette and Estelle. He didn’t understand how they could be so….so….he didn’t even have a word for it, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make it stop.
“Wyatt!” A loud stage whisper stopped him in his tracks, and he backed down the stairs. Turning toward the kitchen, he saw his mother and Royce, both dressed in their nightclothes, standing by the table.
He entered the room, concerned for both of them. “Why are you still up? Are you all right?”
Delilah clutched the collar of her robe tighter to her neck. “We’re fine. Well, not really fine, but we’re not ill.” The glow of the lamp on the kitchen table illuminated her expression, whichwas one of frustration and anger. His mother didn’t get angry. Not really. She preferred reasoning and gentleness when stating her point of view, but that tactic seemed to have gone by the wayside. “How long are they planning on staying?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Have they said something to you?”
“You mean aside from criticizing the meals I’ve prepared?” Delilah waved her hand. “That doesn’t bother me. I know Estelle can’t cook a lick, so her opinion doesn’t matter. I don’t care what Odette says about me, either.” She reached out and grasped his arm. “It’s Sheridan I’m worried about. She hasn’t been herself since they’ve come.”
Delilah wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. He’d noticed the change as soon as Estelle and Odette stepped out of the stagecoach. And she’d only grown quieter and sadder, so different than she’d been before. And he didn’t like it, not one bit.
It hurt his heart.
Odette and Estelle had only been in the house for two days now, and in those two days, they had beaten Sheridan down so hard, criticizing everything she did, disparaging who she was as a person, that she was a shell of who she’d been just a short week ago. Nothing she did was right in their eyes, and frankly, he was tired of them bullying her.
That’s what they were doing and he hated it. Hated seeing her take the verbal blows that never seemed to let up. He hated that he had to keep coddling her family, too, pretending to be nice, when all he wanted to do was ask them to leave. No, order them to leave and never come back.
Delilah squeezed his arm. “Every word they say to her is derogatory.”
“I know.”
“And just plain cruel,” Royce piped in as he snaked his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her closer. In an effort to calm her? Or perhaps, to calm himself? Obviously, Royce had strong feelings about what was right and wrong, and the way Sheridan was being treated was just plain wrong. “If they say one more horrible thing to that sweet young woman, I will have something to say about it. I know it’s your house, Wyatt, but Delilah and I have no issue asking them both to leave. And the sooner the better.”
